


Closer to where it is that you’re headed for

by trinipedia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Challenge Response, Community: christmasbang, Fanfiction, Gift, Gift Exchange, Gift Fic, Gift Giving, M/M, Pre-Slash, SPN - Freeform, bigbang, xmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-17 07:32:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9311639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trinipedia/pseuds/trinipedia
Summary: It’s been a year since Sam has fallen in the cage, and Dean spent most of it trying to pretend he can move on. But when his estranged brother suddenly reappears, a few days before Christmas, Dean's world is shaken all over again. (a beginning of season 6 AU, with some extra soul and lots of extra snow on the side)





	1. Gift One: Misfortune seemed his lot

**Author's Note:**

> **Artist Name:** the ever magical and wonderful [](http://chosenfire28.livejournal.com/profile)[chosenfire28](http://chosenfire28.livejournal.com/)! [ART MASTERPOST](http://chosenfire28.livejournal.com/240624.html)
> 
>  **Beta:** my [](http://xanateria.livejournal.com/profile)[xanateria](http://xanateria.livejournal.com/) princess  
>   
>  **IMPORTANT NOTE:**  no matter how much I love soulless Sam, let's pretend he's our regular Sam for this fic's sake. Consider it a Christmas miracle XD
> 
>  **Disclaimer:**  not mine in any way, shape or form. Based on the songs My Girl" by Mindless Behavior, "Christmas Tree", "Him and her" and "Remember that" by Paolo Meneguzzi. Dialogues from the actual show have been twisted and bent to my will, too, so if there's anything you think you recognize, I probably didn't write it. Fic title from "The Face" by RyanDan. Written for the [](http://christmasbang.livejournal.com/profile)[christmasbang](http://christmasbang.livejournal.com/) challenge.  
>   
> 

 

 

  
_This thing goes our way and I...Triple lindy into that box...You know I'm not coming back. You got to promise not to try to bring me back. You go find Lisa. You go live some normal, apple-pie life. Promise me, Dean._  
  
December 2011, Cicero, Indiana  
  
It looks like an old, cliched Christmas movie, one of those ones Sam always liked so much and you never could stand: the snow is falling, slowly, piling up and turning the landscape into something surreal.  
  
People walk by but their steps make no sound, and the colorful lights shining through the foggy windows look like sad fireflies, melancholic drops of loneliness.  
  
You clench your jaw and down your beer in a single gulp. A man with worn and ragged clothes, playing an old Christmas song on a tarnished brass harmonica, enters the bar, taking off his hat in greeting with a dirty, shaky hand.  
  
Turning to your right, you almost say something, before you catch yourself and remember Sam is not there and you're alone; it seems like yesterday you and him were sitting next to each other, your knees brushing every now and then.  
If you're not wrong, you were at this exact same bar when you came in town to investigate the disappearance of kids in Cicero.  
  
Seems like a lifetime ago, but it has only been, what? Three, four years? You chuckle bitterly to yourself. When did the time start moving so slow? The solitude is unbearable, and you gesture for the homeless guy to come sit at your table.  
  
He looks at you, warily, but you order a beer for him and he relaxes slightly, taking the stool across from you. "Thanks, man," he says, saluting you with the glass before gulping the beer down as if he hasn't drank one in forever.  
  
Which, coming to think of it, he probably hasn't. "Don't mention it," you reply, waving a hand dismissively, and there's silence for a while.  
  
"So, what are you doing on your own at a bar so close to Christmas?" the man inquires, suddenly.  
  
"No family, friends, kids? I mean, no offense, but you look like a family man."  
  
You snort loudly. "This is more me than you'd think, believe me," you mutter. "There was a time when I spent all my time in dives like this. Never the same, different names, different faces every week or so."  
  
You realize your tone has gone wishful and regretful, so you quickly correct yourself.  
"Don't get me wrong, okay? No complaints. But if anyone had said to me that in five or ten years from then I'd live in suburbia..."  
The man nods. "Oh. Yeah. I get what you mean."  
  
You blink, surprised but not willing to question the first person who seems to understand you in months. "Really? You do?"  
  
He nods again. "Believe me, I know," he retorts, and his tone resembles yours from a few minutes prior.  
  
"So, you've traveled around a lot, huh?" he inquires further, and you suddenly feel like talking about your past, what you've spent your life doing, who you've done it with, what you've lost, what you've supposedly gained.  
  
"Yeah," you answer in the end. "My whole life, pretty much."  
  
"And?"  
  
You shrug. "I don't know what else to say about it," you mutter, vaguely, because wanting to say it doesn't make it a good idea.  
  
"Come on," the man insists.  
  
"I've seen you around, you moved in, what, about a year ago?"  
  
You nod. "Yeah, thereabouts."  
  
"Okay, so you must have tons of stories to tell," the man points out, but this time you shake your head.  
  
"There's not much to tell, you know? I lived on the road. Took, uh, crap jobs that nobody else wanted and somehow loved them, all of them."  
  
The man looks like he wants to ask about it, but instead he doesn't, nurturing his beer and letting you sort through your thoughts.  
  
"I got to work with a partner, to...help people. It made me happy, gave a meaning to my life."  
  
The man studies you for a long moment. "'Course, that was then. Now you're practically respectable, with roots, a real job and a daily routine."  
  
You cringe inwardly. "Yeah. Wow. I guess so. That's kind of scary, actually," you mutter, more to yourself than to the man.  
  
He nods, anyway. "So, a partner, uh? Must have been hard leaving him behind after living in close quarters for so long. You must have been pretty close."  
  
You clench your jaw. "Yeah. We were."  
  
Before you can add anything else that could make this man understand the complex miracle that was your life with Sam, the waitress walks up to your table.  
"Sorry, guys, gotta close up," she says.  
  
You blink and check your watch. Damn, it's past one in the morning. You scramble up, followed by the man, and put some bills in the waitress' open hand.  
  
"Thanks, and Merry Christmas," she says, with an apologetic smile.  
  
"Yeah, same to you," you reply, trying to smile back but only managing a pathetic grimace.  
  
"I think she likes you," the man murmurs, with a chuckle, and you roll your eyes.  
  
"You think?" you retort.  
  
"I think she was just pitying me."  
  
"There's nothing to pity about you, Dean," the man states, and walks away.  
  
You turn and move a couple of steps the other way, but stop abruptly. You never told him your name. "Hey, how did you know-"  
  
There's no one on the street, no one but you.  
  
_Weird_ you think, pushing your hands as far as they go in your pockets and start walking back towards Lisa's house.  
  
It's been almost a year, and you still can't call it home, not even in the secret of your mind.  
  
Your home has always had four wheels and a gleaming, black paint job. Your home laughs at your stupid jokes and when it smiles, dimples brighten up a room. It's been a year since you last saw those dimples, a year since those few words, since you've heard his voice.  
  
At first you still heard it, and you wrote down everything you wanted to tell him, but that was over fast: you needed too much alcohol to get through it, and with a kid in the house and demons probably gunning for your ass you couldn't afford to be drunk and sloppy.  
  
When Ben asked you to join the Christmas tradition and tie a wish to the Christmas tree, you couldn't say no to his earnest face, and ended up hiding your only wish amongst the tree's branches.  
  
You've put one up for Sam too, even if it's been a year since he went away.  
It has been a year since you saw him last, and it has been a year since you wrote him that letter you still keep hidden in the side pocket of your duffle, together with all those desires and shameful feelings no one has to know about.  
  
It has been a year since Sam took that swan dive down the Pit. A year without the light of your brother's warming smile, a year without being able to take a real breath because when he's not with you, something's broken and you don't know how to fix it: last time, you cracked and sold your soul to the Devil in order not to have to listen to the sticky silence that threatened to choke you.  
  
You look up at the grey sky, wishing you could see a shooting star, wishing you were still a kid who believes in Santa, the magic of Christmas and all that bullshit.  
You remember how it felt to stare in awe at a Christmas tree, his lights twinkling with mirth, and realize that it's probably the way you've always looked at Sam.  
That thought automatically takes you back to another goodbye, another time when he left you.  
That time, you could have stopped him.  
But you didn't.

 

 

 

  
"Remember to write from California, from time to time." Dean hated the way his voice sounded: tired, empty and broken. "You can text me your landline's number, if you want, and I'll call you."  
  
Sam nodded, his gaze fixed on something far away. "Won't be be for six months, at least," he replied, hoarse and weak. "Gotta get settled, get used to the classes, the timetables and everything."  
  
Dean's stomach clenched. Six months were a very long time, for them. He hadn't been far from Sam more than a couple of days, and the thought of half a year without hearing from him made him feel lost.  
  
"Sure, kiddo," he replied, careful to be neutral. "Have fun, do whatever you want. Isn't that why you're leaving? To be free?" His voice came out more bitter than he intended, and Sam flinched.  
  
"I mean it’s past time for us to separate." He tried to fix it. "It can't be healthy for two teenagers to be so co-dependent, am I right?"  
  
Sam nodded again. "Will you be okay?" he asked, in a murmur,  
  
All Dean desperately wanted was to pull him closer and bury his face in Sam's hair, inhaling deeply the spicy smell that said love, safety, and home.  
  
But he couldn’t "Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself," he said instead. "I'll have more time to hustle, drink and get laid," he added, jokingly.  
  
He knew the truth; he was going to fight against sadness and loneliness every damn second until they were reunited.  
  
"You should worry about yourself. Who's gonna take care of you now, huh?"  
  
Sam chuckled softly at that, before he lowered his head. "Don't hate me, please," he begged quietly.  
  
"I could never," Dean replied, instantly. "It's no one's fault, and I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise."  
  
Sam shook his head."No, I-I just don't wanna fight with you anymore, De."  
  
This time, Dean didn't stop himself from ruffling Sam's hair. "Oh come on! We have to fight, it's in the brothers' handbook," he exclaimed, and ducked to avoid Sam's swat, as he laughed.  
  
For a moment, everything was back to normal: Sam was laughing, and he looked incredibly young. Then the spell was broken when the bus honked. "I gotta go," Sam sighed, and jumped off the Impala's fender, but Dean grabbed his arm.  
  
"Wait," he pleaded, beyond caring if he sounded weak. "Sammy, please-you won't miss the bus, just stay one more minute."  
  
On Sam's face a shitload of emotions fought for dominance for an instant, as he bit his lower lip so hard he drew blood to stop himself from crying like a little girl.  
  
"Bye, Dean," Sam murmured, then he grabbed his duffle and walked away, as fast as he could, without looking back.  
  
Dean stared at the Greyhound bus until it disappeared, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white, as _Carry on my wayward son_ played in the background.  
He already knew that every time he'd hear that song, or any other that reminded him of Sam, he was going to ignore the tear trapped amongst his eyelashes; he knew that he was going to keep booking a room with two beds, and the absence of his brother's light snore was going to make it impossible for him to sleep, at least for a while.  
  
He knew that while driving in traffic or walking in an unknown town, he was going to turn suddenly, because a word, a gesture, a shadow would have caught his attention, but there wasn't going to be anyone on his side to share those thoughts with.  
  
And every time he was about to fall asleep, every moment of his life with Sam was going to flash behind his eyelids, wrapping him in bittersweet memories he would have probably been better off forgetting but was going to cling to with all his might instead. All he wanted was to be able to look in Sam's eyes, and see him looking back.

 

 

 

  
You don't see it, at first, because you're walking with your head lowered, but then you feel observed and finally look up. And there, standing under the tree in the yard, is Sam.  
  
Snow is falling over him, and both his hair and his shoulders are dark and heavy with it, but the colored lights are suddenly brighter as they caress the well known profile of the brother you thought you had lost forever.  
Despite wanting to run to him, you don't, and your steps don't falter, until you're standing right in front of him. You look your fill, unable to tear your gaze away but also unable to say anything, until it's him who breaks the silence.  
  
"Hey, Dean."  
  
You keep staring, because what else are you supposed to do? You thought you were never going to see him again.  
  
Sam rubs the back of his neck, evidently uncomfortable, as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.  
  
He looks good.  
  
"I was expecting, I don't know, a hug, some Holy water in the face-something" he mutters, chuckling, and that finally snaps you out of your reverie.  
  
"I'm dead? Is that it?" you can't help asking. "This is heaven? Are you...Real? Or maybe I'm-"  
  
Sam grabs your hand and presses it against his chest. His heart is there, you can feel it beating fast under your palm even above the layers he's wearing to protect himself from the cold.  
  
You know that's not proof enough, you know you should check him for possession, make sure it's not a shapeshifter or any other creature in front of you, but you can't bring yourself to. If you found out that's not your baby brother, it would break you.  
  
"Sammy?" you still ask, hoarsely, and your desperate, raw need is probably plain for him to see on your face, because his gaze softens.  
  
"It's me," he answers, quietly, and you can't really stop yourself from grabbing him and pull him to you, as tight as you can manage, and close your eyes, smelling motel soap, sweat, Sam and _home_. It might disappear, and soon, but right this moment you have your brother under the Christmas tree, and that's all you could have ever wished for.

 

 

 

  
Of course, that's when you realize something's definitely wrong with this picture. "Wait a minute, wait a minute," you mutter, pushing Sam back. "You were gone, man. I mean, that-that was it. How the hell are you-"  
  
Sam makes a face. "I don't know."  
  
You blink, stunned."What do you mean you don't know?" you demand, but all you get is a shrug.  
  
"I mean, no idea. I-I'm just back." You lick your lips, deep in thought, and that's why you fail to notice the way Sam's hazel eyes follow the movement.  
"Well, was it God, or-or Cass? I mean, does Cass know anything about it?"  
  
Sam sighs and flails his long arms in the air. "You tell me," he exclaims, as frustrated as you by the lack of answers. "I've been calling, Cass hasn't answered my prayers. I don't even know where he is. I mean, I was...Down there, and then, next minute, it's raining, and I'm lying in that field, alone. It's kind of hard to go looking for whatever saved you when you got no leads."  
  
Your shoulders sag, and you feel the same impotence of the time you came back from Hell yourself.  
  
"But I looked. I mean, believe me, I looked," Sam adds, his fingers curling around your wrist. "For weeks."  
  
Your gaze snaps up from where it was locked on your hands, that are almost touching. "Wait, weeks?"  
  
Sam gasps. Apparently he didn't mean to say that. "How long you been back, Sam?"  
  
He bites his lower lip, fidgeting, before he answers. "About a year."  
  
"What?!" your voice is high pitched and you see him flinching, but you don't care. You're seeing red.  
  
"Dean-" he tries to soothe you, but you won't have any of it.  
  
"You been back practically this whole time? What, did you lose the ability to send a friggin' text message?"  
  
Sam sighs and looks away, and you already know you won't like what he'll say next. "You finally had what you wanted, Dean,"  
  
"I wanted my _brother,_ alive!" you shout, not caring about waking up the whole neighborhood.  
  
"You wanted a family," Sam insists, as stubborn as usual. "You have for a long time, maybe the whole time. I know you. You only gave it up because of the way we lived. But you had something, and you were _building_ something. Had I shown up, Dean, you would have just run off. I'm sorry. But it felt like after everything, you deserved some regular life."  
  
_You idiot_ you think. _The only one I want to build something with is you._  
  
You open your mouth to say as much, but Sam stops you, lifting a hand. "What's done is done," he says.  
  
"You got out, and you gotta stay here with Lisa and Ben. Now you know I'm here, and I'm okay. Tell me you'll keep going as you've done until now."  
  
You swallow the knot that's making it hard to breathe and manage to somehow nod.  
"Time will tell if this can work or not," Sam adds, with one of his annoying smiles that say he knows more than you do.  
  
"Maybe you'll decide you're not cut for this, for normal, and you miss hunting too much."  
  
_Or maybe I'll beg you to go back on the road together, because I can't stand being away from you anymore_ you think.  
  
Somehow you consider it a more plausible outcome. Sam is right, anyway. Now you know he's alive and well, and it might be enough to turn the page on your old life. Only time will be able to tell if this you built in Cicero is just a lie or if it was right and overdue for you to find another way to live.  
  
All you know is that from now on, every time you'll get in bed, memories of you and Sam will float around you, haunting you, and every time you'll look at the mirror you'll see Sam's eyes looking back at you from your reflection. He's the one stepping forward and wrapping you in his arms, this time, and you know in your gut that this is goodbye.  
  
"Keep in touch, you hear?" you demand, but your voice comes out way shakier than you intended it to.  
  
Sam opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, before stepping away. "Of course." He walks away, the snow cracking under his heavy boots, as somewhere Jingle Bells starts playing.

 


	2. Gift Two: 140 characters is more than enough

  
At first, things didn't change that much. You know you are on Sam's mind even when you are not talking. Sam is out on the road, hunting things and saving people, so it's normal for him to fall out of the map for a couple of days. You both know that, and he still texts you after every hunt, without fail, like it was homework, and you always leave whatever you were doing to go answering, either via text or via call.  
  
Despite not being together, you feel like you two are closer than you have been for a very long time, and that's why you can go back to your family life with Lisa and Ben, reassured now that Sam is alive and well. You're satisfied with a quick phone call every other day.  
  
However, not even two weeks after that first meeting, you find yourself struggling with your new way of communication. Sam hits your phone all the time, texting you acronyms, faces you don't understand, shortened words and so on.  
  
Your best option is Ben. The kid has to know, right? Luckily for you, he does.  
  
Two dots and a parenthesis? It's a smile. TTYL means you're going to be expecting a phone call later on, and J slash K apparently means Just Kidding. "He's just playing with you," Ben explains, with a frown.  
  
When you ask him what brought it on, Ben simply shrugs.  
  
"Nothing, Dean, it's just...dang, you guys text each other a lot."  
  
You've never really thought about it, but as you recall earlier this same day, you have to admit Ben is right.

 

  
First thing in the morning, as you drank your coffee, Sam has texted a "Hey", to which you have immediately replied with "What's up?"  
  
Sam has taken a few moments before texting "Nothing, just thinking about you".  
You've chuckled to yourself at how sappy your little brother could be, and sent a "Aw, baby, do you miss me?"  
  
The answer you've received was a simple "Yes", but it has warmed you right through.  
  
You couldn't stop yourself from replying "Ditto".   
  
Then, Sam has hit you back with the less than symbol number three. You have blink, confused, and shown it to Lisa, seated across from you at the kitchen table.  
  
She sighed and shook her head. "That's a heart, Dean," she has explained, in the end. "Sam just texted a heart. It means I love you."  
  
You snort, and pocket your phone. "Man, he's such a chick" you've mutter, more to yourself than to Lisa, but your tone is tender and affectionate.  
  
You were so focused on Sam that you fail to notice the glance Lisa has thrown at you; if you had, what came after wouldn't have probably surprised you as much.

 

  
When you enter the bedroom, Lisa is sitting on the bed, still dressed, a serious expression on her face. "We gotta talk, Dean" she states, and you nod, and close the door behind you.  
  
You have no idea about what’s wrong, but you're pretty sure you don't want Ben to hear any of it.  
  
"So...he didn't call yet, today, did he?" she asks, and you suddenly feel uncomfortable.  
  
"No. I guess it's been crazy for him, lately, he's hunting a-"  
  
Lisa shakes her head. "I don't care, Dean. Ben told me about it, you know? About you and Sam always tweeting like two love-birds" she explains, a little bitter.  
  
"When you get off the phone, Sam says _No, you hang up first!_ I heard him. That's so not brotherly attitude, you gotta know that."  
  
You fidget. "Lisa, I'm sorry but...I'm beat and I really need to get a good night of sleep before tomorrow," you try to tell her. "Can't we do this another time?"  
  
Lisa narrows her eyes. "Your brother sends you freaking declarations of love via text message, Dean. How about we do this now?"  
  
You gasp. "It wasn't like that," you protest.  
  
Lisa crosses her arms on her chest. "Then how was it?"  
  
You open and close your mouth a couple of times, unable to come up with anything that make enough sense. "I can't really explain," you say, in the end. "Me and Sam, we...we've got issues. No doubt. But we're different from others. We work like this."  
  
Lisa's gaze shifts, as if she's debating on something, then she bits her lower lip. "You want to know the truth?" she asks, and you cringe inwardly.  
  
"Probably not," you mutter, but you know she's going to tell you anyway.  
  
"You've got so much buried in there, and you just keep pushing it down," she starts.  
"Do you honestly think that you can go through life like that and not freak out? Just, what, drink half a fifth a night and you're good?"  
  
You lower your head. "You knew what you signed up for when you took me in," you point out, but Lisa is already shaking her head.  
  
"I didn't expect Sam to come back, Dean," she exclaims.  
  
You flinch, visibly, and her posture relaxes a bit.  
  
"I'm glad he's okay, I am," she adds, her voice softer. "But the minute he walked through that door, I knew it was over. Sam knows all of your secrets, you knows all of his."  
  
You take a step towards her.  
  
"Okay, Lis... I'm not gonna lie. It's not your fault if you can't understand this, I-" All of a sudden, Your phone starts ringing off the hook.  
  
"Do you mind putting the damn phone away?!" Lisa snaps. "I'm trying to have a serious conversation here."  
  
Your gaze drops on the display, and your eyes go wide. "It's Sam. It could be important. He could be hurt, need my help..."  
  
"I'm sure he can wait five damn minutes," she hisses, and you press the silent button, to let the call go to voicemail.  
A second later, the blip of the phone tell you what you expected. You got a text, and you can't help but worry and wonder what Sam has just said.  
  
Lisa's jaw is clenched, but you simply lift your hands apologetically.  
  
"One second," you mutter. "Let me just check if-OH MY GOD."  
  
Your conversation momentarily forgotten, Lisa grabs your arm. "What happened?" she inquires, worry plain to hear in her voice.  
  
You lift the phone to show her the display, where two dots and an opening parenthesis appear.  
  
"What am I supposed to do?" you ask, almost panicking."Isn't that a sad face? Why is he sad? Should I hit him with a question mark?” Knowing that your baby brother is hurting is more than enough to send you into mother hen gear, and you're already planning how can you turn his GPS on to find him faster, when Lisa's eyes get wide and she steps away.  
  
"You're not serious," she mutters."Don't you see what's going on, here?"  
  
When you don't reply, but just stare back at her in confusion, she loses her patience.  
"You two have the most unhealthy, tangled-up, crazy thing I've ever seen," she exclaims, throwing her arms in the air in frustration. "As long as you keep going on this way, you're never gonna be happy."  
  
Your expression probably shows how much her comment has hurt you, and she pinches the bridge of her nose.  
  
"That came out so much harsher than I meant," she murmurs, before sitting next to you on the bed. "Dean, listen to me," she tries again. "I'm not saying don't be close to Sam. I'm close to my sister. But if she got killed, I wouldn't bring her back from the dead."  
  
You sigh. "I don't know what to do here, Lis," you admit, honestly. "I mean, if I knew for sure what the safest thing was, then I'd do it. Stay here and look after you guys or get as far away as I possibly can, but I don't know."  
  
Lisa nods to herself. Your words proved that you're completely missing the point.  
"Can I be honest? Maybe we're safer with you here, maybe gone, I don't know either. The one thing that I do know is that you're not a construction worker. You're a hunter. And now you know your brother's out there, things are different. You don't want to be here, Dean."  
  
You open your mouth to say that she's wrong, of course you want to, but Lisa lifts a hand. "Leave it, you know I'm right" she insists. "You want to be there, and I get it. You're white-knuckling it living like this. Like what you are is some bad, awful thing. But you're not. And I'm not going to have this discussion every time you leave, every time you pick Sam over us. And this is just going to keep happening."    
  
You swallow, hardly able to keep up. She’s kicking you out.   
  
"I can't just lose you and Ben," you protest, weakly, and Lisa offers him a small smile. "That's not what I'm saying."   
  
"You're saying hit the road, on Christmas Eve," you point out, and Lisa groans.  
  
"I'm saying that this is not where you're supposed to be, Dean" she explains. "I'm saying that Sam is your universe, and you're in love with him."  
  
You choke, and your eyes go wide in shock. "What?"  
  
Lisa nods. "You are. Just admit it already so that you can deal with it deal with it. It will be better for everyone involved."  
  
You know that you could deny it, could come up with a lot of different explanations for yours and Sam's behavior, could shut Lisa up with a heated kiss and prove to her all night who you're really in love with, but you won't do any of those things.  
  
Mainly because now that the sentence is there, hanging out in the open in all its ugly truth, you can't unsee or unhear it. You can't bury it under six feet of self righteousness and guilt again.  
  
You spin it around in your head for a long moment, before you finally have the courage to lift your eyes and look at Lisa. "You really think we can pull something like that off?" you ask, hoarsely, your feelings bare for her to see and knowing you have no right to ask her, but desperate for some support now that you've finally got a clue.   
Lisa smiles sadly. "It's worth a shot, right?"

 

  
When you pull the tarp off of the Impala and put your leather jacket on, something unclenches in your chest, something you didn't even know had been knotted so tightly until now.  
  
You wait until you've left the lights of Cicero behind before texting Sam that you're going back to him; as soon as you do, you receive a reply.  
  
 **1-4-3 ;)**  
  
You don't need Ben to understand the text, this time. One letter, four letters, three letters; you're so never going to let Sam live this chick flick bullshit down.  
  
"Yo?"  
  
"Hey, Sammy."  
  
END  
  
 _He's not afraid to be with_ **him** anymore, because now he knows that **he** 's his life; he's not afraid that **he** 's going to leave him anymore, because now **he** knows that he's **his** way.  
They'll make it through hard days and difficulties, they'll keep each other warm on the coldest winter nights, they'll watch together as the dawn comes: that's how it's always gonna be between him and **him**.  
 **He** holds his hands and vows together with him that **he** 'll never break their promise; he holds **his** hands and vows together with **him** that from now on it will always be this way.  
 **He** will give him **his** love, he will defend **him** with all his heart; **he** will take away all his pain, and he will protect **him** with all his soul.  
 **He** will reveal all **his** secrets to him, he will carefully keep them; **he** will give him strength, and he will protect **him** forever.  
He's not a mistake, **he** not a dream, he's not temporary, and this time **he** going to stay.

 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

>  **Not Coming Down From:**  [Desigual Office](http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Desigual%20Office)  
>  **Clawed Chained Heart:**  anxious  
>  **Under The Spell Of:**  RyanDan


End file.
